The countdown kept chewing. Twenty. Eighteen. Ray could already feel the hallway changing in his head, the difference between sanctioned greeting and a problem. Milady felt it too. That was why she was smiling.
He swallowed it.
"Please," Ray said. The word came out rough, pissed, unwilling. "Let go. Please."
Milady's laugh was quiet and delighted.
"Again."
"Please. I'm asking. Let go before it drops."
She held him one extra second just to be cruel, pinched once more, then opened her hands and released his wrists at the same time.
Ray stepped back like the floor had gone hot. His palms were empty. His chest still stung where she'd been playing. Milady smoothed her blouse with two fingers, ribbon still neat, like nothing had happened except she'd enjoyed herself.
Alter died.
The air changed. Not visibly. Just that wet-station humidity without the rewrite inside it. Common sense snapped back to the old kind. Hands on strangers were hands on strangers again.
